


Back Up

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Trowa Barton has to deal with a handful.</p><p>2014 Smut Off featuring Trowa and Ties</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Up

A/N: Another exciting installment in the “2014 Smut-off involving Trowa and ties” between Miss Murdered and me.

Warnings: language, sexy times  
Pairings: 2x3, hints of more

Back Up

It was early in the summer, that time of year when the sun beat down and warmed the back of your head but it wasn’t hot enough for sweat to bead and drip.  
It was, however, hot enough for the prostitutes to stop wearing zippered hoodies and jackets that they flashed open, at the risk of freezing, to showcase their wares for potential clients.  
Now, as May melted into July, it was hot enough for them to wear spandex shorts that molded to their thighs; running shorts that, when they leaned back against the highway underpass revealed a glimpse of cock; most didn’t even bother with a shirt and they showed off their tattoos, their slim chests and pale bodies.  
Of course, as Trowa pulled the squad car to a dead stop they didn’t bother to show off anything.  
A few of the young prostitutes scattered, clearly new on the job and terrified of the sight of the white car, the blue and black lettering and his black uniform.  
Some of them called out rudely, insulting Trowa, his mother, his hamster - that was new - and directing him on ways to fuck himself.  
He looked over their number, searching.  
“Hey you.”  
His words seemed to divide them, parting them on two sides and leaving just one, alone, lips somewhere between a sneer and a scowl.  
He was thin, like the others, pale like the others, and the black vest he wore open on his torso revealed his flesh, the wiry muscles, the tattoos, the jagged scar down his sternum. He wore fitted black pants, so low on his hips that his pelvis was in stark relief and it was obvious he shaved his pubic hair. His hair was long, dark brown, and dangled over one shoulder in loose braid. It lent him an androgynous air, enhanced by the dark makeup around his already large blue eyes.  
“Moi?” He jerked a thumb at himself. Some of the other prostitutes snickered.  
“Yes, you,” Trowa snapped.  
The prostitute sauntered over, taking his time, peeling back the open sides of the vest and spinning around, showing himself off.  
“See something you like, copper?” He asked with a smirk and a lecherous wink.  
Trowa glared.  
“I’ve got a few questions for you,” he said.  
That shooed off another handful of the prostitutes - having a cop stop to look them over was one thing, having a cop try to turn them into rats was another entirely.  
The blue eyed man froze, his smirk disappearing.  
“I don’t have any answers,” he promised, but he walked closer.  
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you,” Trowa pointed out.  
The prostitute reached into the open driver’s side window and tugged on Trowa’s tie, plucking it free of the tie pin and using it to haul Trowa’s head out of the window.  
“Unless your question is will I fuck you for free, I don’t have any answers,” he blew a kiss. “Officer Barton,” he added after a glance at Trowa’s nameplate.  
Trowa jerked his tie free and the prostitute laughed, he turned back to the few of his comrades brave enough to remain with him.  
“Maybe you’d rather just look?” The prostitute offered, turning back and running his hands over his bare chest, tweaking his nipples and throwing his head back in mock-ecstasy.  
Trowa wanted to look away, but he had to admit, it was damn near impossible.  
The prostitute might be thin, but he was fit, his body firm and toned and the scrawling trail of roses and thorns across his chest, wrapping around to his sides and back, only made him more entrancing.  
The prostitute turned then, letting Trowa see the view from behind - quite literally. He pulled down his low slung trousers and mooned him.  
His friends howled in laughter but then went silent when Trowa slammed out of the squad car.  
They scattered, knowing it had gone too far, but the braided prostitute tripped as he tried to pull up his pants and Trowa latched onto his arm.  
He hauled him around and shoved him face first against the back of the squad car.  
“You’re under arrest,” Trowa informed him as he cuffed his hands behind his back.  
“What the fuck? What the fuck for? I wasn’t soliciting or -”  
“Public indecency,” Trowa snapped.  
“Oh, come the fuck on you fucking -”  
“Do I need to remind you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law?”  
“Yeah? What are they going to charge me with when I tell you to go fuck yourself?”  
Trowa rolled his eyes and opened the back door of the squad car.  
“Wait - at least pull up my fucking pants, man.”  
Trowa looked down, at that pale, perfect ass, and he considered refusing the request.  
Then again, when he arrived at the station it might be a bit difficult to explain just why the man’s pants were balanced low on his thighs.  
With a sigh, Trowa reached down.  
The prostitute shifted backwards, helpfully giving Trowa better access to the fly and in the process grinding his ass against Trowa’s groin. It was clearly intentional, and the prostitute was clearly enjoying himself if his chuckle and his half hard cock were anything to go by.  
Trowa resisted the urge to do more than brush his knuckles against that cock as he tucked it into the man’s pants and zipped him up.  
He then unceremoniously shoved him into the back of the squad and slammed the door shut.  
Trowa turned to glare at the two prostitutes who remained.  
One spat in his direction, but neither bothered to offer much protest when Trowa got back into the squad and drove off.  
His passenger was curiously silent, surprisingly so after his display back in front of the others, and Trowa spared him a glance in the rear view mirror.  
Blue eyes stared back at him, intense and sparkling with dark humor.  
As he pulled to a stop at a red light Trowa allowed himself a longer look, eyes lingering on his chest, the thorns and roses, the scar down his sternum. His eyes trailed lower and he could see that the man was now completely erect, his impressive cock restricted by those low slung pants.  
The man lifted his hips, shifting forward, showing himself off in case Trowa had somehow missed his impossible to ignore cock.  
Trowa met his eyes again, and there was a challenge, a joke there.  
“For fuck’s sake.”  
Trowa made a right turn, nearly hitting another car, and drove two blocks down to an abandoned factory. He parked the squad and got out, slamming his door shut before going around to the trunk.  
He looked through the first aid kit, searching for anything to use as lubricant, and found a tube of burn salve. He considered it.  
Better than nothing.  
He closed the trunk and opened the back door to the squad.  
The prostitute regarded him with a wide grin.  
“Pit stop? Going to let me out for a stretch?”  
“No,” Trowa growled and shoved him away from the open door. He joined him in the back seat and closed the door.  
The man opened his mouth to protest, but then he moaned, loud and guttural, when Trowa reached out to massage his cock through the pants.  
“Wanna take off the cuffs? Wanna let me feel that fucking gorgeous body?” The prostitute purred, lifting his hips and thrusting against Trowa’s hand.  
“No.” Trowa repeated.  
Blue eyes met his, still amused but there was a hint of irritation at not getting his way. Trowa had to smirk at that.  
He opened the fly of the man’s pants, freeing that beautiful cock, and the man lifted his hips again, obligingly allowing Trowa to push down the pants to his knees.  
Trowa didn’t waste time - he’d been half hard since he first saw that braid of hair, that pale tattooed chest and those firm, slim hips. He shoved his own trousers and boxers down without preamble and then straddled the prostitute.  
He rode against him for a moment, grinding their cocks together and watching those blue eyes grow heavy, listened to their combined breathing, their gasps and groans and he had to fight off the urge to kiss him, to taste those wide, smirking lips.  
“What - what the hell is that?” The man asked as Trowa reached for the burn salve.  
“Only lube I’ve got.”  
The man snorted.  
“That’s not fucking lube. That’s burn salve. Says so right on the tube.”  
“Want me to get the calamine lotion instead?” Trowa offered.  
The man snorted again and spread his thighs wide under Trowa, cock nudging Trowa’s ass.  
“Uncuff me. Let me finger fuck you,” the man begged.  
“No.” Trowa said again.  
He spread salve on his fingers and prepared himself, teasing his hole until he had himself moaning in pleasure and he slipped one finger inside, then another and he searched for that spot, that amazing spot that had him seeing stars just at his touch.  
“Oh fuck man, this is fucking torture - you’re just going to come fucking yourself,” the man whined.  
“Isn’t that what you and your friends told me to do?” Trowa moaned.  
The man shifted, trying to fit his cock against Trowa’s rectum.  
“Please,” he moaned and Trowa smirked at the way he had made him beg.  
He spread another dollop of salve on his fingers and used it to coat the man’s cock, stroking the hard, silken length until he had the man thrusting upwards, fucking the loose grip of Trowa’s hand.  
“Please,” he moaned again and Trowa finally relented, settling himself over that cock and easing himself down slowly, teasing both of them, until finally, seconds later, he was fully seated.  
“Fuck you feel good,” the man moaned, his head thrown back against the seats.  
Trowa set a slow pace, determined to enjoy this and make it last for as long as he could, but the prostitute had other ideas.  
His hips rose to meet Trowa’s downward motions, bucking against him and trying to quicken the pace, trying to force Trowa to ride him harder, quicker.  
Now it was Trowa smirking, teasing, completely in control.  
“Please - let me touch you,” the man moaned.  
“I already said no,” Trowa reminded him and he leaned back, pressing his head and shoulders against the mesh screen that separated the front seat from the back and he wrapped one hand around his cock and started to pump it.  
The man’s blue eyes fixed on that, on the motion of Trowa’s hand and the rise and fall of their bodies.  
“Fuck - fuck it’s been too long,” the man moaned and then he gasped. “Fuck I’m coming - Jesus fucking - oh God!”  
Trowa could feel it, the hot release deep inside him and he rode it out, continued to pump his cock and continued to move up and down on the softening cock, ignoring the man’s whimper of pain and pleasure at the use of his over-sensitized flesh and then Trowa felt that wonderful build, that blinding pleasure and he came with a groan, coating his hand and the stomach of the prostitute.  
He leaned forward, resting his head against the other man’s.  
It was several minutes before either of their breathing returned to normal.  
“Hey Officer Barton?”  
Trowa rolled his eyes.  
“Yes?”  
“Your squad car… the back doors only open from the outside right?”  
Trowa pulled away, stared down into those laughing blue eyes and then glanced at the door handles.  
“Fuck,” he swore furiously.  
The man laughed.  
“Going to call in for some back up?”  
“Fuck,” Trowa said again.  
How the hell was he going to explain this?  
He fingered the radio pinned to his shoulder.  
“Well?”  
“Shut up,” he snarled, prompting the other man to laugh.  
With a sigh he thumbed the radio on.  
“Dispatch this is Officer Barton.”  
There was a moment of silence, then a blast of static, followed by -  
“Trowa! You missed your check in.”  
Trowa winced at the enthusiastic voice of Quatre Winner.  
The man chuckled and Trowa just covered his mouth with his free hand.  
“I’m checking in now,” he said patiently into the radio.  
“Oh. Okay. How did the extraction go?”  
The man was licking Trowa’s fingers, sucking at them and nipping at them.  
“It went fine,” Trowa growled.  
“Great! So you’re on your way back to the station?”  
“Actually, I need some back up,” Trowa sighed.  
“Oh? Okay, I can be right there. Let me just -”  
“No!” Trowa practically shouted. “Not you!”  
“Oh…”  
Trowa rolled his eyes and finally had to pull his hand away. It was too distracting.  
“Send Officer Yuy.”  
“Heero?”  
“Yes. Heero.”  
“I think he’s partnered with Chang today. Want me to -”  
“Just Officer Yuy,” Trowa interrupted. He did not need Wufei to see this. He could only imagine the lectures he would hear for the rest of his life.  
“Are you sure you don’t need -”  
“I’m sure,” Trowa interrupted.  
“Tell him it’s my fault, he’ll understand,” the man said helpfully.  
Trowa glared at him.  
“I’m serious. Tell him to tell Heero it’s my fault. That I did it again.”  
Trowa sighed.  
“Quatre.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Tell Heero that it was Officer Maxwell’s fault. Tell him that ‘he did it again.’”  
“Okay…”  
“Thank you, Quatre.”  
“Of course! See you two soon!”  
Trowa shook his head.  
“This is so fucking embarrassing.”  
Duo nodded.  
“I know, man. I just hope Heero can ditch Wufei because if Chang sees us like this…” Duo trailed off and thrust his hips up again.  
Trowa shook his head.  
“This is your fault,” he said and reached out to push Duo’s bangs out of his eyes.  
“My fault? You’re the one who couldn’t wait to get me back to the station and fuck me in the showers like a normal human being.”  
“You pulled down your pants and showed me your ass in public!” Trowa protested.  
“Yeah, that was kind of low,” Duo agreed with a smirk.  
Trowa frowned.  
“What do you mean - you did it again?”  
Duo looked sheepish.  
“Well… one time… Heero and I kind of… found ourselves in this same predicament.”  
Trowa tried to think back to any points when Heero or Duo had had to make a similar, horrifically embarrassing call for back up. Surely Heero or Duo would have asked for Trowa’s help?  
“How did you get out?” He finally asked.  
“Remember that time Heero brought back his squad with the missing back driver’s side window?”  
Trowa nodded.  
Heero had muttered something about stupid punks and bricks and his handwriting on the report form had been completely illegible.  
“Yeah. Had to kick out the window.”  
Trowa arched an eyebrow hopefully.  
“Not happening today, buddy. I was wearing boots back then. The only thing these sneakers would break are my fucking ankles.”  
Trowa sighed. Hopefully Heero could ditch Wufei and would arrive soon.  
“Look on the bright side - Heero’s going to find us in this really compromising position and probably make us re-enact it at home on the couch tonight so he can jack off while watching us,” Duo said.  
Trowa smiled at that. At Duo’s use of the word ‘home’. It would be good to have him back - their bed had seemed empty, these past three months while Duo had been undercover.  
“And in the meantime,” Duo said and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “why don’t you uncuff me and let’s put the rest of that burn salve to good use?”  
“No,” Trowa said and picked up the salve. “The cuffs stay on.”  
-oooo-  
Ball is back in your court Miss M!


End file.
